


like a stranger to impress

by iPhone



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Regrets, Romance, but im really not, im really sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 23:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14531742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iPhone/pseuds/iPhone
Summary: Beca meets Chloe’s parents, formally. Well, as formal as possible, all things considered.





	like a stranger to impress

**Author's Note:**

> Angst-o-meter: high. You’ve been warned.
> 
> Song lyrics are from “Cain” by EXES.

Beca has never quite perfected her handshake. She spent more time in her youth fixated on her laptop and the way her fingers could fly across her keys in order to create music. She could feel the ebbs of anger and pain leave her body - even if it was temporary - with every measure and downbeat.

Growing up, Beca wants to avoid pain as much as she can, but it’s only because she recognizes that pain is only ever followed by the harsh reality and consequence of her own actions.

It’s why the pain she feels when her father leaves is so jarring because all she thinks is that she did something completely unforgivable. Something so heinous that the idea of unconditional love no longer exists in her world.

So, she never quite perfects her handshake because there aren’t many people that she needs to interact with closely anyway. She’s content with just her music, her laptop, and herself. And even then, she’s not sure that this particular trifecta is one hundred percent reliable.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

_In the room that we were almost lovers_

 

 

 

* * *

 

Chloe jokes about Beca meeting her parents occasionally. It happens on and off while they’re at Barden - though Chloe mentions it more generally to their group at large. She mentions that her parents would love to house some Bellas for the summers if they’d like to travel to Portland with her. 

They never take her up on it and Chloe always goes home for a few weeks during the summer. Beca recalls that she tried not to miss her too much, which proved difficult as the years trickled on.

Closer to present time, Beca can isolate pockets of time where they’re lying in their shared Brooklyn bed - the bed they picked out together - and Chloe will tease Beca about getting handsy. In Beca’s defense, she had only been cuddling into Chloe for warmth.

“I mean,” Chloe drawls on those evenings and mornings, “there are rules about this kind of stuff, you know?”

Beca huffs, but the smell of Chloe’s perfume and the heady fabric softener maker her less prickly. “And what rules are those?”

“Should I bring you home to meet my parents? We’re moving pretty fast here.”

(Beca, since third year, has remembered to send Chloe’s parents a quick message, detailing that she’d love to meet them one day. They always send a huge box of snacks and non-perishable foods to the Bella house under Chloe’s direction. Beca is grateful.

For the snacks.

And Chloe, of course.)

To quip back, Beca musters up a quick pass of her lizard-cold feet against Chloe’s shins and grins a little at the yelp. It’s not her fault the heating is on the fritz _again_ and Chloe’s all Beca has. 

 

 

* * *

 

It’s pretty permanent, this feeling. Chloe is Beca’s everything for about six and a half years. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

_I could feel, I could feel you there_  

 

* * *

 

 

Beca has always loved Chloe in some capacity. It’s nothing new, the loving part. It’s easy to love Chloe. Beca figures anybody could make the same assessment. Even Lilly would probably raise her voice to tell somebody how much she adores Chloe.

The slow transition from loving Chloe to additionally being _in love with_ Chloe built up over time - perhaps too long of a time period. Beca welcomes it tentatively because those first ebbs of love kind of sneak up on her one day.

It’s seeing Chloe in their tiny kitchen, somehow wide awake at 7:30 a.m. and she’s already singing. Alternating between singing and humming and making sure the pancakes she’s churning out are evenly sized.

On that particular Saturday morning, Beca forgets why she doesn’t normally wake up early on weekends because seeing Chloe engulfed in sunshine and radiance is somehow the only thing she ever wants to see on every Saturday from then onwards.

So, loving Chloe is easy, even if Aubrey would probably point out that Beca resisted it so heavily the first time she met Chloe.

Conversely, Beca thinks that being in love with Chloe is her personal hell. 

She tries not to think about the way Chloe’s hands flail when she’s excited. She tries not to think about the ridiculous short pyjama shorts Chloe wears to bed and the equally appealing button-up top she wears.

Beca tries to quell the unmistakable pride and sheer love she feels when Chloe dons her scrubs for a day at work. Or when Chloe hums while she prepares for her weekend volunteering at the soup kitchen. 

Beca pretends that nothing has changed even though every passing day is just another missed opportunity, and another day that Beca tortures herself with dreams and ideal scenarios that she never brings to fruition because she’s scared that she might _lose_  Chloe.

Despite it all, Beca will never complain aloud about being in love with Chloe. She lets Fat Amy rib her for letting her gaze linger. She lets Aubrey snort and cackle when she calls asking what Chloe’s favourite soup to drink is when she’s sick. She lets Chloe stare at her curiously when Beca pecks her on the cheek on the way out of the apartment. She lets Chloe stare at her contemplatively.

But neither of them crack, which is reflective of their entire time at Barden, Beca supposes.

Loving Chloe is easy. Being in love with Chloe is even easier.  

 

* * *

 

Now...

Being in love with Chloe is the hardest thing she’s ever done.

  

* * *

 

“I somehow think my parents would love teasing you,” Chloe tells her through a mouthful of chips. Beca does her best not to stare at the crumbs adorning Chloe’s face and fingers. Beca does her best not to point out that the only person with something worth teasing at the moment would be Chloe and her messy, childlike way of eating.

“Really?” Beca says instead. 

“Yes.” Chloe nods confidently. “You’re so...Beca.”

Beca loves these particular interactions. She selfishly hoards them and exaggerates her prickliness during these moments because Chloe’s eyes light up when she’s teasing Beca. She loves the way Chloe’s eyes catch whatever light passes through the room. She loves the way Chloe’s eyes are unforgivingly vibrant.

“I don’t even know what that means,” Beca mutters, turning back to her laptop. She’s been inspired recently by songs about being in love and songs about love in general.

Chloe laughs and brushes off her crumbs into the sink. She then wanders over to Beca and props her chin on top of her head, peaking over at her screen. “What are you working on?” she asks quietly.

“Just...something,” Beca answers evasively. “Some songs I heard on my Spotify recommendations.”

Chloe’s fingers dig into her shoulders before her arms drape over them lazily. “Anything good?” Chloe asks, genuinely curious and genuinely eager.

Beca huffs and tries to ignore the way her own heart pounds as she reaches up to touch Chloe’s hand. “I’ll forward them to you,” she promises, making a mental note of the playlist she’s going to send Chloe that night.

She’ll try not to be too obvious about her song selections. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

Chloe hasn’t opened the email.

 

* * *

 

 

 

_I could feel..._

 

 

* * *

 

It’s dumb, really. Beca stares at her shaking hands because she’s about to meet Chloe’s parents for the first time. 

She can almost hear Chloe’s voice right in her ear, reminding her that it’s her mother with the strong handshake and her father who’s the hugger. Then she sees in her mind a wink that kind of suggests she’s lying and is just setting Beca up for failure.

She fumbles with the snap on her purse, letting it fall back against her thigh uselessly. She resists calling Chloe’s phone again just to hear her voicemail message.

(”Hi! This is Chloe Beale and _not_ Beca or Amy if you were around to hear my last voicemail message. If you’re hearing this, well I succeeded in changing my voicemail _and_ you’ve just missed me! But don’t worry, I’ll call you back as soon as I can. We both win.”

Beca stares blankly at Chloe when she lowers the phone from her ear. “That’s ridiculous. Nobody is going to listen to that all the way through.”

Chloe grins. “But it’s cute, right? You think it’s cute. I can tell.”

Beca doesn’t lie to Chloe. She can’t. She grins back. “Yeah, it’s adorable.”)

Looking up, she contemplates which seat to take. Would it be presumptuous to sit beside either of Chloe’s parents? She’s not sure what protocol is, especially not when -  

 

* * *

 

There isn’t even an opportunity for a hospital visit. There isn’t room for the dramatics of a long period in a waiting room, anxiously awaiting news.

There’s just…nothing. A house visit from a police officer notifying her that Chloe is _gone_ and that the bag he’s holding contains her personal belongings.

Nothing.

Beca numbly recalls making it to the trashcan in their kitchen, but she thinks that there wasn’t even anything to throw up. There’s nothing left in her.

It feels like someone's taken a wrecking ball to Beca's chest. It hurts—physically hurts—when she empties the bag. Chloe’s things tumble out onto the table. A bracelet, her phone, her favourite thumb ring, her wallet, and identification pass for the clinic.

Beca feels like she’s been split in half. Beca feels like she’s been torn apart because Chloe has been as well.

There’s nothing. Not even the reassurance of a heart rate monitor or tearful confessions to Chloe’s lifeless body. Beca doesn’t get to hear the beeping of Chloe’s heart and she doesn’t get to think of it as the most beautiful sound she has ever heard.

She hears nothing. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

She listens to music for the way the beats match up. She listens for potential.

But she can pinpoint the first time she _heard_  music and felt it reverberate through her soul. Settling somewhere in her heart, she remembers the way she felt something akin to pain when Chloe sang to her for the first time.

Something akin to pain, and yet...

She feels light whenever she hears Chloe’s voice. Heard.

Had heard.

The first and last time she heard anything worth remembering was Chloe’s voice, like a soothing lullaby. 

 

* * *

 

“Beca,” Aubrey’s voice sounds in her ear. 

“I...yeah,” she mutters. She looks up and realizes she’s been standing just off to the side from the seats set up. Portland is quite beautiful, Beca thinks. Living in Seattle, she never quite managed to take the trip down with her parents. 

(”Thinking of going back home for the summer before New York?” Beca asks.

“Hm, maybe,” Chloe says lightly. There’s something in her eyes as she watches Beca contemplatively. “Depends. What are your plans?”

“Just trying to figure some stuff out,” Beca manages to say, meeting Chloe’s eyes.

Chloe takes a breath at that and when she exhales, a smile sneaks onto her face. “Same, honestly.”)

She never quite managed to take the trip with Chloe.

Somewhere in her mind, Beca has pockets of scenarios where she meets Chloe’s parents for the first time. They usually all involve her and Chloe living and working in Los Angeles or somewhere else in California. These now-alternate timelines see Beca finally shaking Chloe’s parents’ hands with confidence and assuring them Chloe is being taken care of. That Chloe is happy. That Chloe will always be happy onwards.

Instead, she sees the black and white story laid out in front of her (it’s difficult to see in colour these days because light was so harshly ripped from her life): Chloe’s parents huddled in the front row, looking despondent and engulfed in despair. 

None of this is how Beca envisions seeing them for the first time, let alone _meeting_  them.

“Do you want to say anything to them?” Aubrey asks quietly.

“I...I don’t know,” Beca whispers. “I think so, but I don’t know if...”

“You _know_  Chloe would want you to.”

It’s probably the first time Aubrey has said Chloe’s name aloud since she learned of the accident. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

All Beca sees when she closes her eyes is a medley of blood-streaked skin, crushed metal, and the flashing of the ambulance, police car, and fire truck – all of which meant nothing then and mean nothing now.

It’s what she imagines, anyway, because she hadn’t been there.

She wasn’t there at exactly 4:35 p.m. on a sunny Tuesday in June. She hadn’t been at the Canal Street and Allen Street intersection.

She hadn’t been there.

She wonders briefly – only briefly because it makes her chest cave in if she lingers on the thought - if Chloe was conscious at all during or after the accident. The pain she imagines manifests in a physical, visceral reaction in Beca whenever she thinks about it. However, it’s all she has left. She absorbs it because it’s the only way she can feel anything anymore.

Selfishly – it’s only selfish because it brings her some peace, just the possibility – but –

She wonders if Chloe thought of her.

Beca doesn't sleep anymore. 

 

* * *

 

Sitting on uncomfortable plastic seats, somehow being corralled into sitting next to Chloe’s mother, Beca listens to the minister reflect on the meaning of life, on the beauty of an individual person, and how short life really is. Despite it all being quite beautiful, Beca cries, mostly in shame, guilt, and anger. The feelings are not quite reflective of reality, but she cries because all she feels then is pain and it overwhelms her. It settles somewhere deep in her chest and spreads through her veins like poison.

She cries quietly and tries not to think of everything that he’s missing out on. He doesn’t talk about the way Chloe cared about everybody and every _thing_ , even apologizing to inanimate objects. She cries because he doesn’t talk about how Chloe hugged people like it would be the last time she ever saw them. He doesn’t talk about what it meant, being in love with Chloe Beale and realizing that she’d never get the opportunity to tell her because she let every single opportunity pass by.

She cries and tries to hide it because it feels embarrassing on some level, to cry in front of Chloe’s parents and everybody who has ever cared about Chloe in some capacity.

It’s stupid, she thinks, because Chloe would brush her tears aside - just once - and probably tell her that it’s okay to cry. It’s okay to feel pain. It’s okay to _feel_  and -

Chloe’s mother gently places a hand on her forearm. Beca jolts, looking up in concern, but Chloe’s mother isn’t looking at her. She has the same devastated expression on her face, but she looks forward, determined. Her hand curls around Beca’s forearm before she’s sliding her hand down to hold her hand.

Pain explodes in Beca’s chest, then.  

 

 

 

* * *

Beca considers hand-holding as an extremely intimate form of expressing oneself.

She has held hands with only five people in her life.

Her mother, father, Jesse, Chloe.

And now, Chloe’s mother. 

 

* * *

 

On _this_ particular Saturday afternoon, the sun shines brightly and the skies are clear. There’s a gentle glow around.

On this particular Saturday, Beca stands in front of Chloe’s parents and tries to look them in the eye.

“You’re Beca, right?” Chloe’s father, Scott, asks.

“Yeah. Yes,” she corrects, blushing. It feels trivial, exchanging names when her world has ended.

“She talked about you a lot, did you know that?” Chloe’s mother, Grace adds.

“That’s...” Beca nods, swallowing. “I’m...I’m sorry, I’m not sure h-how to-” And she breaks again, gesturing with her hands like she’s not sure if she should formally shake their hands.

Instead, they make the decision for her and engulf her in a hug. It’s a warm hug, filled with love. It’s not painful, not quite.

Beca sobs, feels an answering quiver from the shoulder she’s pressed against. Confessions spill from her lips then:

“I never told her. I should have told her. I was going to, I swear. I loved her, so much.”

Pulling back, Scott places a hand on Grace’s shoulder while Grace holds Beca firmly at arms length. “I know,” she says quietly with strength. “I _know_.”

“You know?” Beca parrots. The sun’s setting, casting a beautiful orange, pink glow now. “You-you-”

“Chloe knew. Or at least, on some level, she did. I promise,” Grace whispers. “Thank you for making her the happiest I have ever seen her.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Beca whimpers. Because she didn’t. She was too scared, too slow.

“You did _everything_. I promise.”

The pain her veins slows a little. Her heart seems to slowly piece itself back together. She doesn’t doubt the honesty in the eyes in front of her - Chloe’s eyes. 

“Take care of yourself, Beca.”

And they turned – father and mother, husband and wife – away, out of Beca’s life for the first time and the last time. Beca feels her resolve slipping with every step, the resolve she holds on to so desperately every day that passes where she lives in a world without Chloe Beale. Every step that Chloe’s parents take, they carry a piece of Beca with them, so she is helpless and remiss to do anything else but watch them walk away with finality. It’s like watching her past and reality finally merge and everything leaves her at once. She doesn’t bother stumbling into a chair, instead chooses to lean heavily against the closest tree.

Heavy, heavy, _heavy._..

The woman and her parents are gone. Gone. Gone.

And Beca remains.

Twisting slightly, she can see the freshly placed dirt and the scattered flowers. There isn’t even a tombstone yet – nothing for Beca to trace physically with her fingers. Nothing physical for her to use as an anchor. She supposes waiting five to six months won’t even matter because the only thing that ever mattered is buried under layers of dirt.

Chloe’s gone.

Beca doesn’t plan on returning.

 

* * *

 

_I..._

_...could feel you._


End file.
